


Yumenosaki Oneshots

by midoshino



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, tfw you dont know what you are writing 1/2 of the time but you still write OTL, warnings for chapter four: slight mentions of eating disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-06-06 11:59:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6753034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midoshino/pseuds/midoshino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One: Hajime tries to dance in the rain.  Tomoya tags along too.<br/>Two: Tsukasa isn't a liar.  There are exceptions, though.<br/>Three: Makoto was a model.  Was.<br/>Four: Izumi Sena had a rocky life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Tiny Children Dance In The Rain

**Author's Note:**

> So it was raining and I said to myself "Wow, how can I make this about my gay idol children?" I then put on some Nujabes, and felt the weight of my sins on my finger tips. Or, rather, for this fic the weight of fluff (which, frankly, makes less sense.) Am I rambling? I don't know. And I am too tired to care.
> 
> P.S.: Do not write fics in one sitting, without a beta reader, while sleep deprived and running off the magical energy of sugar to keep you from falling asleep. Especially if you are as much of an amateur writer as I am.

Rain always felt like a downer to Tomoya.  It made him refrain from going outside as to not get wet, and made everyone a tad bit more slow, more tired.  It seemed that on rainy days, even the theatre club president could not evade the dull spell that loomed over all.  He hoped the weather would clear eventually, the normality of everything bothered him to no end.

 

When it rained, Hajime was at peace.  At first, he thought the rain was remarkably gloomy, that what was truly wonderful was the aftermath, but glad to discover he was wrong.  Few people were out and about – all the less anxiety he had to face – which meant that he could practice dancing without much worry.  Of course, Hajime felt slightly silly, keeping up with a beat playing ever so softly in his head while holding an umbrella.   

He mentally cursed himself for not getting the rhythm down yet, muddling up his steps up and occasionally slipping on the concrete.  _Maybe I am not meant to be an idol,_ he thought, rubbing his temples.  But he persevered, collecting himself to try once again, determined to try to prove the taunting thoughts that swirled in his head wrong.

 

Tomoya looked out his bedroom window to see a blur of pink and blue swirling about, squinting to see his long time childhood friend dancing alone in the rain.  His initial thoughts were that Hajime was always a bit out there since they were young, sniffing lavender sachets while anxious, but quickly turned to concern.  What if he got sick?  Anytime Hajime was under the weather, Tomoya found himself fussing over the littlest of things, the smaller of the two becoming incredibly delicate and needing to be tend to.  Without caring too much for himself, he dashed out of his home, wearing nothing more than a worn brown coat and pants stained with paint (which he could accredit Hajime for being the cause of – he always left his paint around). 

Hajime was lost in his concentration.  He _had_ to get it right, it was simply frustrating him to no end.  Suddenly, he lost his footing, letting out a squeak in surprise, certain he was going to hit his head on the grass, or even concrete.  Instead, he was greeted with Tomoya’s warm arms – Hajime noting he smelled of fresh cookies and home – lifting him back to his feet.  He wanted to stay in his friend’s arms a moment longer, but did not say such aloud.

“Hajime!  Don’t you know it isn’t well for you to be out here in the rain?  C’mon, let’s head inside and- “

“No!  I mean,” Hajime’s face flushed at his outburst, fearing he sounded too forceful.  “I need to practice my dance, but I get too flustered when people can see me, and staying too long after hours at the academy is really scary…If I don’t get better, I would just lag everyone behind, I don’t want to be a burden due to how exceedingly terrible my performance is.  You and Mitsuru already feel miles ahead of me, it makes me feel I am not fit to be on the same stage as you guys.”

Tomoya bit his lip at the statement, wanting to cry out that his friend was more amazing and talented than he believes, but feeling Hajime’s anxiety would twist his words to make it seem he said the opposite.  So, he took Hajime’s small hand, smile going from ear to ear.

“Well, if you need dance practice, how about I help?  If you want to practice and get sick, it would only be right that we get sick together.” he asked, going onto one knee as if to propose they dance at a gala as opposed to a rainy sidewalk.

Hajime was at a loss of words, but responded by raising Tomoya up and doing a twirl, hair moving along with him.  He did not even notice the both of them were exposed to the rain, his umbrella left neglected on the grass.   

Surely the two would end up with high fevers and stuffy noses by morning.

Neither of them were the best at dancing, although Hajime always considered Tomoya the better of the two, as he needed to have exact movements for when he puts on theatre acts.  Tomoya, in turn, thought Hajime was the better one, for his steps were always light but had a certain energy to them. 

While Hajime was doing another twirl, his friend found the opportunity to move close enough to where their noses were almost touching.  He promptly pulled the smaller one into a hug, the two soaked forms pressing against each other. 

“W-We-“ Tomoya started.

“Should probably head inside.” Hajime finished. 

 

As Tomoya thought, they did get sick, but got some solace in being together the next day.


	2. White Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two: Tsukasa is not a liar. At least, he doesn't lie often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I do this to myself, I know nothing about Tsukasa. I just know he speaks English sometimes and an elite. I hope I didn't mischaracterize him...
> 
> Also, yet another unedited fic written out of sleep deprivation, without a beta reader? Man, I am on a roll here! And with it being unedited, watch me cry internally by realizing all the loose ends and stuff I missed out on.
> 
> Enjoy, I guess.

Tsukasa was not a liar.  In his household, there simply was no room for such behaviour, except for the grin and bear attitude his parents put up in front of other elites, eyes telling of all the scorching hate they had.  But what they did was not a lie, more of a front to hold and keep onto their pristine image as if for dear life. 

The mentality to _almost_ never deceive passed from them to him, but it was more lenient for him than them, he was a child who was still developing, after all.  A child, who, as quoted by his parents “is exposed to commoners whom have the grace and manners of pirates of old – rowdy, unsanitary, and dangerous,” He dare not correct them, although he had witnessed those with the same manners he bared, albeit of lower social standing. 

Leniency.  At the academy, he felt once in a while, he could let a lie slip out, usually harmless ones such as if he could stay afterschool for additional activities outside of archery and Knights or if he was to blame for classroom mishaps (in which he took the brunt of the punishment).  Occasionally, the lies stuck out for no true reason, replaying in his mind for days after, as if to slowly make Tsukasa guilty until going with the wind.  Four lies stuck out.  Four too many, his head thinks.

 

The first one was in archery club.  Leader was acting foolish again just days before a performance, shutting himself off from the world, claiming he was inspired and was not to be disrupted in his work.  Which, in Tsukinaga terms meant locking a practice hall so he may doodle and plot out all of his mind’s inner workings without any regard for school property.  But Tsukasa was used to it, somewhat.  What truly made him worked up was his upperclassman were so willing to cover up for his actions when before, they reprimanded him.  Was he perhaps missing a memo?  When questioning his upperclassman, Arashi patted his head, saying there was nothing to stop Leo’s eccentricities, Izumi dismissed him, and Ritsu drifted off while mumbling about Isara. 

It frustrated Tsukasa, leaking into his archery practice.  Drawing his bow a bit too far, imagining his anger was traveling through the arrow and far away from him, he hit the centre target multiple times.  With his concentration, he failed to realize Leo had entered, bow in one hand and arrows slung in a bag over his shoulders. 

A cackle rang throughout the archery hall.

“Buaha, Suou person!  I’d expect someone so high strung as you are to be into something like this!  Lemme guess, you’ve been practicing since you were little cause of those elite parents of yours, right?” Leo teased, bag of arrows making a clattering sound from his laughter. 

Tsukasa gritted his teeth.  Just when he wanted to let go of the frustration his leader brought, he came into his safe haven and mocked him.  _Grin and bear,_ he thought, remembering his parents’ motto for when they encountered truly nasty elites. 

He was not good at grinning and bearing.

“There is to be no idle speak in the archery halls, leader.  If you wanted to mock me, you have all the time in the world elsewhere, but not in a place where concentration and silence is key.”

Tsukasa’s arrow hit the green centre circle, along with the three other arrows mere millimetres apart. 

He silently wondered if a little red on the ivory practice hall walls would be noticeable.  He dismissed the thought, Hasumi had a good eye, he would see even the slightest discolouration immediately. 

“Wow, you act just as strict as Keito, it is a surprise you two aren’t some long lost siblings.  Can you not take a joke?  Lighten up a bit, it’s good for the soul and whatnot- “

“ _Do you mind shutting up for one moment?_ ” Tsukasa asked in English, not realizing he had done so.  He was too used to the sudden transition between Japanese and English. 

Leo, putting his bow onto one of the benches, stopped for a second.  He tapped his finger on his left hand, parroting his underclassman’s words, snapping his fingers after translating them.  His face turned blank.

“Suou, are you okay?”

“ _Absolutely._ ”

Tsukasa’s arrow hit the mark once again, splitting hairs with the one shot minutes before.

 

The second lie was a part of a surprise.  Anzu’s birthday was coming up, and all the units felt the need to treat her to a party for all of her hard efforts.  Hajime was the one to propose the idea, but Nazuna was the one to vocalize it to everyone else. 

“I scrounged up all of the extra money I gained from doing work to get some nice fabric for a dress I’m making her.  Big sis is already so cute in her school uniform; I wonder what she will look like in something I made for her…?” Hajime rambled, sketching out the pattern. 

Tsukasa could not help but feel slightly jealous, Hajime was creating something from the heart, personality and love weaved into the very essence of the dress.  What did he have to offer?  Archaic books of warriors from long ago, or cartograms depicting what people thought the world was shaped like?  Anzu was not a girl desiring wealth, so handing her cash was not an option (not to mention it felt insincere, his parents doing the same to shoo away those they’d rather not deal with). 

He settled on homemade candies – which he had to fight the urge not to eat them himself – and a leather bound journal with a cursive A on the spine.  The pages were sown on with golden coloured thread, and edges decorated with swirls.  Instantly, he knew it was meant for her. 

The party itself was kept in the shadows so its existence was not revealed to the birthday girl herself.  The only time they were permitted to speak of it was through private conversations and code, but any verbal speak of it was kept to a minimum. 

Anzu teased about no one celebrating her birthday, and questioned Tsukasa if he was going to do anything for it, but saying he did not have to – it just would be nice.  Sweating, he replied he did not have anything in mind.  Her joking smile did not falter, but he wondered if she was disappointed.  It did not matter, the lie was for the sake of her, after all.

The day of the birthday came, Subaru and the rest of Trickstar lured her out into an empty practice room, plaid blindfold limiting her vision causing protest from her.  Apparently she started sassing them out, calling them cowards for not letting her see and ready to fight. 

That stopped once she saw the practice room.  Covered in a spectrum of colour, balloons and ribbon lining the wall and confetti scattered on the floor, it looked something straight out of a child’s party.

She loved it. 

All presented her with gifts, such as Midori stuttering and asking for a hug before giving her a mascot character, or Kaoru offering her a kiss and hair ornament.  Tsukasa could swear he saw her tear up from how generous everyone was to her.

He was glad he lied.

 

The third lie was to save someone’s skin.  Mitsuru’s, to be specific.  Worried he would be late to class, as he was already on watch from Mr. Kunugi for his numerous tardies, he managed to crash into slam himself into the door. 

He broke the door’s glass. 

It was a miracle he was not injured, but Tsukasa noted he has likely been hurt so many times his body was more tolerant to the pain than others. 

Mitsuru wasn’t tolerant to Mr. Kunugi yelling at him, however.

He rubbed the palms of his hands, unable to make eye contact and face flushed.  His foot was over the glass, crunching it as if somehow that would soothe him. 

Tori snickered, though said he better not find any glass on the bottom of his shoes.  Shinobu looked out the window, pretending to be captivated in the rising run, not one to deal with yelling all too well.  His fingers tapped the desk nervously, wanting for the teacher to go away so he may relax some.  Yuta was missing, likely swept up in Hinata’s mischief again.

Tsukasa wanted to read his book – a very interesting one about a fictional monster resembling some octopus, man, and dragon hybrid from which an equally fictional cult is centred around – but the noise was all too much.  Taking a deep breath, he approached the livid teacher with a fake apologetic look on his face.

“Teacher, do not threaten Mitsuru for what I have done.  If you are to discipline anyone, allow it to be me.  Do you not see he is terrified?  He is getting lectured on a crime he never committed.” Tsukasa said, even conjuring up a phoney nervous hiccup. 

“Ah, I see then.  Suou, follow me outside, we have much to discuss on how you are to fix your mistake.” Akiomi said, crossing his arm and tapping his foot. 

“Alright, sir.”

Mitsuru gave him a joyful smile, Tsukasa mouthing he better pay him back somehow for this later, turning away to not expose the two.

 

The fourth lie was to himself.  His room, the potent scent of cleaning solution almost suffocating him, felt too small.  He was normally not one to complain, it was considerably bigger than others, and likely the size of Tomoya’s entire home, but for pacing, it could not feel more cramped. 

 _I am not ready for this, I am not ready, oh someone save me,_ he thought, hands grasping his red hair, threatening to pull some of it out.  Just earlier, his parents announced he was to be the host for the next gala, citing that he was the next Suou, he better become used to these sorts of things.  An elite is nothing more than a commoner if they lack the social skills to do such a “simple” task. 

_Perhaps I could claim I am sick – wait, no, they would force me to do something grander for missing out on this.  Plus, they have already alerted their associates I am the host, there is no backing out now._

Tsukasa flopped on his plush bed, softly screaming into his pillows.  He looked up to see a photo of him with his parents, on the one day they decided to reduce themselves to commoners when they went to an amusement park.  His mother and father’s smiles felt more genuine than all of the smiles they gave to the people they were surrounded with daily.  But, although the photo usually gave the boy a fluttery feeling in his chest, it now felt mocking.  If Tsukasa listened close, could he hear their voices say that this was not optional, that if he could not do this, he did not deserve the Suou name?

He covered his ears in his pillow. 

“You know what?  I can do this; I can do it!” he told himself.  He sat up, right hand clenched in a fist that mimicked those of inspired manga characters Yuta read about. 

He wasn’t quite sure about himself, but the mentality of “fake it until you make it,” came to mind.

 

Tsukasa was not a liar, evident by the truth he managed to spill out to the leader of Knights. 

It was a cold night, to the point that Tsukasa could see the wisps of his breath if he looked hard enough.  School had been let out hours prior, and many were eager to get home or for student council, rush around to plan the third years’ graduation, which was only a week away.  The atmosphere of the academy quickly changed, turning strangely solemn for a place where something strange was happening every day.  Tsukasa didn’t like it, it felt too cold for the inviting presence it had all year.  It did not help to see third years let out tearful wishes to their underclassman, hoping for the best for them. 

Tsukasa sighed, knees to his chest.  He was at a hill not far from the school, overlooking the quiet town below him, lights dimming as shops closed for the night and people went to bed. 

It wasn’t so quiet, Tsukasa discovered.

Someone was talking to themselves, mumbling where their life was going to go from that point on. 

He was not one for drama or eavesdropping, but Tsukasa could not help but listen in on the person.  Strange enough, the voice sounded familiar and-

It belonged to Knights’ leader, Leo.

“Ruka keeps going on about not wanting me to go, and I feel so bad, I might consider staying at home for the first year of university.  Though, part of me knows that one day she is going to have to be used to not seeing me all the time, I have to move on with my life, and she has to become a tad more independent.  Maybe I pampered her too much over the years, if I didn’t do so, she could have a better time with separation.  My head hurts from all of this…more than wondering if that Suou hates-”

“I’m really sorry, for what you are going through.”

Tsukasa did not even realize he blurted that out, warm spreading across his face.

“Suou person?”

Leo turned around to see the first year, who did not look at him.  The first year analysed Leo’s monologue, going over the last few words again and again.

“Suou hates what?”

The king of Knights went silent, hand covering his mouth.  His breath felt hot on his hand.

“Suou hates what?” Tsukasa repeated, though not trying to sound too forceful, knowing Leo was likely going through a lot in his head.

“If…Suou hates me.”

It was Tsukasa’s turn to go silent.

Leo was surrounded in warmth, red hair brushing up on his shoulders. 

“I don’t think I hate you, you just get on my nerves sometimes…a lot of the time…I’m not _always_ telling the truth, when I say I hate you.”

The next hour was spent telling only truths under stars that shone bright, Leo playfully commenting they all were UFOs coming to take them away to their home planets.

 

 


	3. Modelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three: Makoto was a model. Was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...why do I keep writing for characters I don't know much about? I don't know. I just know Makoto was a model and it...messed him up or something? I guess?
> 
> I tried something different with this, I think. I hope it makes some nugget of sense.

Lights that shone too bright, the chatter among people who gave no true genuine care about him, the twisting feeling in his stomach as the cameras shuttered, it was too much.  Looking off to the side for just a moment, a finger snap brought him back to reality; it’s time to work, not fool around, you know.

After the shooting, the director gave him notes.  Get those glasses off your face, it’s an imperfection, and goofy - natural, the model told himself – look on his face was not to be tolerated.

It was business, and he was not to complain.

Makoto winced at the cry of adoring fans.  They composed songs of daydream and fantasies for him.  No, not for him.  For his looks.  He doubted any of them knew what personality he had, the one behind a beautiful, porcelain face.  But then again, what personality?  He was blank, empty around others so he could be whatever they wanted him to be.  Was he to be stoic?  He could be stoic, he had no whimsy to him to hold him back.  If he was to be eccentric, loud, and playful, he could perform such a thing with ease.  He had no true aloof bone in his body, one that wasn’t for show. 

In the model world, he was perfect.

There was a man who often lurked around him, complimenting him, and going as far to say Makoto was his main inspiration for continuing to model.  Not that he had a choice, though, the man later noted.  Was he to feel pity on the hallow, slightly obsessive man, for almost keeping him caged up in the model world?  He could not process it very well.  _Pity?_   In such a rough-cut industry as modelling, they were advised to refrain from feeling such a thing.  So he did as he was told. 

The sun came out. 

The sun that was opportunity for something different, a mere dream for the model.  A chance where if he wanted, he could become someone new, not empty.

He took it with ease.  Turning his back on the darkness, he walked towards a shining star.

It took a moment, maybe two for him to be overwhelmed with warmth.  Giggles, promises for the future, a red string that connected the four of them together, that was the composition of Trickstar.  It was a spark that could not possibly go out, no matter how frigid the wind be, or how much rain could fall upon them.  With a smile, the creator of the group exclaimed into a cloudless, sunny sky that they were going to take the idol world by storm.  With the amount of personality and determination they had at their helm, while not an easy feat, was to be more accomplishable than they would have ever hoped.

It was rough, almost comparable to the modelling industry.  Here and there, the four had falling outs before making up days later with tearful expressions – or in the case of one of them, a wordless hug – which ultimately strengthened their bonds. 

Trickstar made him feel at home, comforting more than any of the cold stares or sickeningly white walls of the sets.  They allowed him emotions – no, encouraged it.  With them, there shall be no blank slate, no one to play as a fiddle.  That was one of their quirks, booming with colourful characters who remained strong willed at difficult times.  Though, fans hardly ever saw the struggles behind the scenes, of wondering if they were good enough, of if they could face such a person as the _Emperor_. 

A genuine smile formed on the former model’s lips.  Although his personality turned out to be an anxious, insecure, but energetic at once, he was grateful for what he had been provided.  He was thankful he had a chance to have a personality at all.

Facing challenges at every corner, to feel the true rush of people caring for _him_ and not his beauty, it was all welcome to him.

He hoped these days with Trickstar never come to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup, shameless promo  
> Twit: @finndeimne


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izumi Sena has had a rocky life from modelling, and some mistakes later on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I don't believe I have ever written for Izumi before. But hey, what better time to write for him than after Lionheart, am I right?  
> Anyways, I should also mention I am not a hardcore Izumi fan. I appreciate his character, but fear I may mistake some parts of his character and I apologize. Please tell me if there is anything I must correct for future reference. Thank you!

Izumi Sena is a model.  Unlike Yuuki he never got to be a former model.  He did not have a choice.  He was almost an adult and he could not go off and pursue some other career that he hadn’t been training his whole life for, one that pays much less.  So for then and the eternity beyond, he would be a model.  And he was trapped.

His parents were the ones that brought him into the industry, for the industry always needed children that were not incompetent nor too tainted by outer influence.  They always needed more clean, mouldable children to work with.  They were the easiest, after all.

 

The work was simple.  Hold a pose for half an hour while the cameraman gets you from all angles, and the director calls for a change in outfit.  He was only three at the time.  He did not want to stay still, but his parents and the director often cooed that he was a good little boy for being so obedient.  He wanted to be praised.  Praise always was nice.

 

The work got harder as time went on.  The casual dress season had come, and so it called for a “real Izumi Sena” look.  He did not understand.  Was he not real enough?  He was four when he started to question himself, wondering if he was not a real boy.  Real boys did not get told they needed a new look for their true selves.  They could be as they were.

_Dance, twirl, be wild._

That is what they said, and it made him uncomfortable.  For a year he had been told to keep himself from moving, to look this way and pose for the camera.  What was wild, truly?  He bit his lip and imitated the children on TV.  The ones that got to play outside and get dirty and climb up trees with their knees skinned and elbows bruised. 

_Perfect._

He loved the praise.

 

He was eating a cookie when the usually kind and warm director came up to him with a scowl on his face.  He only showed that look when he was disappointed in someone.  He never showed that look to _him_.

_Izumi…you are two pounds over what we want in a boy.  Fix it.  Fix it now._

He blinked.  His momma always told him that it was important to eat good and well.  He needed to grow up to be a strong boy.  But this director said otherwise. 

Izumi nodded.  Yes, he will correct it.

_Good job, Izumi.  You are a good little boy._

He was a good little boy, and he will do as the director asked.  He was obedient and loyal to his elders.  They knew what was best for him.

 

It was a sticky afternoon when he realized the love he got was not for him.  It never was.  It was for how he looked.  The people who saw him in magazines, on TV, they didn’t know his name.  And they didn’t care.  They just wanted another cute boy to look at, to show them the season’s hottest fashions for children his age.  It made him sick.  It made him want to quit.  To be loved without being loved, what was a worse fate than that?  At age six he felt a dread that no other child could compare to.  He almost turned to the director to announce him quitting, but his senses stopped him.  But if he quit, his parents would be disappointed. 

So he stayed.

 

Izumi did not notice it, but he was turning colder, more reserved.  The directors he worked with became more demanding, always asking for more and more makeup to be caked onto him.  _Imperfections were not tolerated.  Look this way.  Get that stupid smile off your face, you aren’t a little kid anymore._   He was seven when he didn’t feel like smiling anymore.  If smiling meant another criticism, he didn’t want to have to bother.  After all, he learned a year ago that the people he was appealing did not care for him, they would not mind if he didn’t have a big goofy smile on his face.

Those people just wanted something that would satisfy them for a moment before they moved on.

 

Narukami Arashi was an odd one.  They smiled and laughed too much, and always said that they were _Japan’s Favourite Little Girl._ They were overly affectionate, always demanding that _Izumi-chan_ play with them after the shoots were done, as if neither didn’t have things to do.  Izumi didn’t hate them, and in his own way found their presence to be comforting.  But he didn’t recognize it as such.  The warm feeling he got when he knew Arashi was being genuine he translated to _Get away from me, you stupid okama._

He was eight when he made Arashi cry from his coldness, and then cried himself trying to say a pathetic _I’m sorry_.

People and feelings were complicated.  He hated it.

 

Izumi was a competent model.  He could read a director’s mind better than almost anyone.  He had seen so many incompetent models come and go, and it was a testament to how good he was.  Some only lasted a month, some a year.  He had been here for six years now.  At age nine Izumi felt like he accomplished something.  He should have been proud.  But instead it gave him a hallow feeling in his soul.

 

Izumi found himself in a ballet class at age ten.  He was graceful, and a shining star among the others.  Standing on his toes, doing a twirl, giving a performance without having a single word in?  He was already trained in it all.  He gave no heed to his instructor’s kind words.  Like all the other praise he had gotten over the years, it was likely fake.  Something said to keep him going.  To keep him trapped.

He was a caged bird and these were just his performances to get fed for the day, and make him obedient.

 

_Izumi-chan, it is such a nice evening, don’t you think?  Why don’t we let loose, pretend that you are the knight and I am the beautiful princess, huh?_

Arashi fell in love with those all too peppy tales about the knight coming to save the princess, carrying her in his arms as he slays dragon and goblin alike.  Then, as he rides off into the sunset with her in tow, she kisses him as a thank you.

Izumi did not care much for them.  But remembering Arashi cry a few years ago, he felt obligated to play along, although never letting go of his cold demeanour.  So at age eleven he tried – and failed – to carry a taller Arashi in his arms, kissing their hand. 

_Just this once, okama._

He was used to this routine – pose for the camera, get another round of makeup, get told another thing he should fix for next time.  Izumi had already sacrificed his eating habits for modelling.  He was too used to eating little and training hard, it was engraved in his mind forever.  He already sacrificed a childish personality normal kids were blessed with.  He was in business.  Such behaviour was not tolerated.  This time, he was told to be a _good little boy_ and work on having a better figure, one that suits his lack of height.  At age twelve he didn’t understand what the director was asking for but still complied.

He had to.

 

_Idols…they are really something huh, Izumi-chan?_

Idols.  They were just like models, only the strong and good make it far, entertaining a populace that never truly cares.  They laugh and say thank you, but they never mean it.  They just want more content for them to listen to and throw away after.   But they, unlike models, also used their voices.  Their songs of feigned happiness were all over.  But those songs – cries – sounded more sorrowful to Izumi than anything else.  He wondered how pained they were.  He wondered if they cared.

And most of all, he wondered why he cared for their safety and well-being.

 

He did not mean to meet Tsukinaga Leo.  Leo was another odd one.  He was would be all over the place, laughing right to Izumi’s face saying _I could make a song out of this encounter!  What should it be called: The Grump of the Evening, or The Beau of Despair?_

But then he would become quiet.  His antics would be over and it made Izumi mad.  How could one switch personalities so fast without any reason? 

Even with how odd Leo was, he grew on Izumi.  He was so genuine with everything.  He felt _human_ , despite claiming he was alien at times.

At age fourteen he could not deny the warmth in his cheeks as Leo called him _beautiful_.

And Leo meant it.

 

_Let’s become idols, Sena!  C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, it’ll be fun!  There is this school not too far away and they train idols to become professionals and stuff!  We’ll be…we’ll be Knights!  Yea…shining armours ready to serve the populace with our music._

Izumi did not favour that idea.  He had little voice training, and he didn’t need another thing he had to do. He told Leo to piss off, it was a stupid idea. 

Two days after saying that, he arrived at Leo’s home, saying that he was willing to do it.  At age fifteen, he was almost hugged to death by an excited Leo.

 

Balancing idolling (which Leo said he wasn’t bad at, he just needed to practice more), ballet, and modelling was not an easy task.  There were times when he felt like passing out in the middle of a live because he had done so much the previous day, or noticed the area under his eyes was a shade darker than normal.  But idolling made him feel more loved than he had been in a while, thanks to Leo.  Not to mention Arashi had joined the two that year, along with a sleepy kid named Sakuma Ritsu.  Leo said him joining was partially because of a favour by one of their classmates.

They all became one big, slightly dysfunctional family. 

Izumi felt something.  At age sixteen he felt genuine happiness. 

Later on he met a boy whilst modelling.  Yuuki Makoto was his name.  He, according to the whispers between the directors, was a blank slate.  There would be times some semblance of a personality came through, but otherwise he seemed to be a doll. 

Izumi felt something else at sixteen.  An overwhelming need to protect this kid, to make him safe from being broken down as many other models have.  So the two got close.  Makoto seemed to brighten up towards him, calling him onii-chan and inviting him to play video games with him.  For a while, while he was a doll to everyone else, to him, just him, Makoto was a child with the world in his eyes.  His wonderful eyes that would disgrace even the finest gemstones.

Things changed.  In his need to protect him, Izumi turned violent.  Makoto was soft.  Too soft.  He would be crushed if something didn’t change.  So he tried to break him just as he was once broken. 

It was a sour moment for the both of them.  At age fifteen Makoto wondered what happened to the friend he cherished so much, and at age sixteen Izumi wondered where he went so horribly wrong.

 

Leo left.  Leo was gone.  Leo had to hide away from his mistakes. 

Makoto left.  He was afraid.  He just wanted the Izumi he cared for back.

Arashi stayed.  They were distant though.  They wanted to pursue someone they would never get.

Izumi was broken.  Izumi was broken from the moment he started modelling.  He was broken because of all the little things after too.

At age seventeen, Izumi was left picking up the pieces and coming to terms with the mistakes of the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was worried when I was writing that I might get some points of Izumi's life wrong, such as what time he meets Makoto, Arashi, and Leo. Sorry if I wrote any of that stuff incorrectly! >.


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